With Everything I Have WHN Grave Danger
by Calim1
Summary: The after effects of the episode "Grave Danger" gives more than relief to Grissom and Sara. It gives hope. Written in response to the June FF Challenge at GSR Forever Online.
1. Chapter 1

**CSI – With Everything I Have ****(WHN "Grave Danger") **

by Susan Dietz (Calim1)  
Rating and Reader Alerts: PG-13  
Category: GG/SS DRA  
_Summary: The after effects of the episode "Grave Danger" gives more than relief to Grissom and Sara. It gives hope._

_Author's Note: This is written in response to the June Fan Fiction Challenge at GSR Forever Online. The prompt was "How did Grissom/Sara begin their romantic relationship". Enjoy! _

_Acknowledgement: The episode "Grave Danger" was written by Anthony E. Zuiker, Carol Mendelsohn, Naren Shankar, Quentin Tarantino. Some dialogue and situations from that episode are used within this piece. Some dialogue from the episode "A La Cart", written by Sarah Goldfinger and Richard Catalani, are used within this piece._

_© June 2010_

_Feedback is appreciated_

_Disclaimer: The characters and general situations in this story are the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer, however I reserve the rights to the specific details. It is not my intention to infringe upon their rights; this story is purely for the enjoyment of fans. Please do not redistribute in any form._

_

* * *

_"_When did you two become intimate?"_

"_Two years ago. I think it was a Sunday"_

_~ Ecklie/Sara "A La Cart"_

**Chapter 1 **

"I want my guys back."

The words spoken came out in a low tone that may not have been heard if there had been anything else but silence permeating the air. Conrad Ecklie glanced at a subdued Gil Grissom waiting for more. When none came he cast a glance at Jim Brass, Sara Sidle and Greg Sanders standing to Grissom's left then backed away, leaving them handle the man.

Greg leaned in close to Sara, eyes flitting between her and Grissom. "Do you need any help?" he quietly asked.

She turned to him and shook her head. "No. I'll take care of him. Thanks though."

"Okay," Greg answered then turned to Brass. "I'll help Ecklie with the processing."

"You do that," Brass said with a friendly pat to Greg's arm. "It'll be okay."

Greg gave him a bit of a grin then moved off, casting a worried glance over his shoulder.

Sara caught Brass's eye and gave him a short dip of the head as he mouthed the words 'meet you at the hospital' then quietly left, leaving her to turn her attention to the silent figure remaining.

It seemed that he was waiting for something but she wasn't sure what. Nothing was left to do except leave this place and never look back. Any evidence collected could only go into the file for there was no one left to prosecute. Nick was safe. The bad guy was dead. The case was closed. But she knew the case wouldn't leave them for a long time.

And it wouldn't leave him either, manifesting itself in long brooding silences that would come upon him throughout the day, lasting for however long it lasted. Many would think he was merely thinking about some convoluted string of evidence that refused to come together, but she would know and she would be there for whatever he needed.

But as she looked upon him now it didn't appear that he was brooding. This was different. This silence was more like the end of the line when you're barely hanging on and don't know what to do next.

She knew what to do next and stepped toward him.

"Gris?"

When he didn't move or even acknowledge her presence she said his name again then gently tugged on his arm. That slight movement seemed to bring him back from staring after the long disappeared ambulance hauling their colleague, Nick Stokes, to the hospital and it took him a moment to notice her. From what she could see of his blue eyes they seemed clouded, distant, not the usual brightness normally there. He looked so fragile, fragile and in pain and she desperately wanted to comfort him.

"Come on."

Grissom squinted at her then followed where she pulled, his movements sluggish and tired. It seemed to take forever for him to register that her hands were on his arms pushing him against something solid then opening a door. He felt her gently push him toward the opening but he remained where he was, his muddled brain centering in on her as thoughts drifted to the dreams that kept him company each time he closed his eyes, dreams of her giving him a needed respite from the daily doses of death he voluntarily exposed himself too. Those dreams mended him whenever he felt broken.

But now he was awake and she was standing here looking tenderly at him and he wondered, yet again, what it would be like to simply run his fingers through her hair for no other reason than because he could. Before he knew it, that's exactly what he was doing.

"So soft," he whispered as his hand traced the strands, a thumb trailing over her cheek.

Sara leaned into the touch and reached up to place her hand over his, eyes closing at the feel of this simple gesture. For so long she'd wanted this, wanted him to touch her, to take her into his arms and never let go. But then she remembered where she was and her eyes popped open and she pulled his hand into hers, softly smiling at him.

"Come on, Gris. Get in," she urged.

The side of his mouth lifted in an attempt at a grin then he did as she asked and settled into the seat, leaning back and wishing that things were different.

_ If wishes were horses . . ._

"I'll be right back," she informed him getting nothing in return.

Easing the door shut, Sara headed back towards the sound of Ecklie's voice as he organized the remaining CSI's on site. Patiently, she waited until he noticed her then stepped towards him.

"How is he?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Exhausted. I'm taking him to the hospital. He was never given a thorough check up after the explosion. I want to make sure he's okay."

"Sounds right."

"Then I'm taking him home. He hasn't slept through this whole ordeal and he's barely on his feet now."

Ecklie nodded, glancing toward the SUV. "Days will process the scene. All of you have worked long enough. I'll send Sanders home as well. I promise not to call Grissom tomorrow. The least I can do is give him a day to relax."

"Let's hope there aren't any buggy bodies planning to appear."

Ecklie gave her a raised brow. "I know enough to take pictures."

"Thanks," she said.

"Take care of him, Sara."

A bit taken aback at the words and tone, she barely managed to keep the surprise off her face and pushed out a smile. Making her way back to the SUV, she climbed into the driver's side and cast a glance at her special passenger. He was asleep, his head leaning against the window and, once again, she felt the need to comfort this man whether he wanted it or not.

She started the engine and he didn't even move.

csicsicsicsi

_The dirt keeps falling. _

_ Each time I dig a hole it fills back up._

_ There's no way I can save her, not like this. Someone has to help. That's what I need. Extra hands._

_ Help! Anyone!_

_I can't wait any longer. _

_I grit my teeth and glare at the dirt as if that will make it obey and dig until finally I hit something solid. Hope rushes through me and I dig faster until I can see the top of a plexiglass sheet and what's inside tears me to shreds. _

_Sara._

_She's struggling and my heart freezes. Frantically I search for the edge._

_I have to get her out!_

_I can't let her die!_

_Ignoring the pain from torn fingernails and ripped skin, I search for a way in. _

_I can't lose her when I'm this close!_

_And there it is – a broken edge. I curl fingers into the hole and lift, pushing the lid aside. Her hands shoot up and grab at me and her panicked cries hurt my heart. All I want to do his hold her, tell her how much I love her but there's something that prickles at the back of my brain and I hold her down._

"_Let me go!" she yells and pushes against me._

"_Hold still!" I shout, ignoring her pleas, trying to figure out what's coming. I know it's bad. I just don't know what it is._

_ "Grissom! Get me out!" she yells but I hold firm. "Please!" she begs, her voice dragging my eyes to her for an instant, my strength faltering at the look of pure fright on her face and she pushes past my hands. _

_ A rumble sounds, the earth moves and she is ripped apart before my eyes and her name escapes me in a harsh and terrified scream . . ._

"Sara!"

The sound of his own voice echoed about Grissom and he jerked upright nearly unseating himself from the couch where he'd been laying, reaching out for anything solid. Hands grabbed him and he grabbed back, disoriented and breathless, the spinning room making him nauseous.

"It's okay. I've got you," came to him in a soothing tone as he became more aware of his surroundings and whose hands he was clutching.

Sara.

She was here and not buried in the ground.

_It was a dream. Just a dream._

Taking measured breaths, he eventually relaxed his hands in hers then removed them to press against the couch.

"You're okay," she said. "It was just a dream."

_Just a dream. That's all it was._

Keeping his head bowed, Grissom concentrated on regaining his balance, hoping to slow the pounding in his head and keep his stomach where it should be before he would even consider speaking up for himself. He had to rid himself of those images that still resonated within. They weren't true.

Nick had been in that box, not Sara.

They were both alive and safe.

There was nothing to worry about.

Sighing, he ventured to peek through his lashes making sure the room had stopped its sickening spin before opening them fully and sitting back, casting a wary look toward Sara who tossed him a cautious smile. From somewhere he found a semblance of one as his attention shifted toward Brass slowly making his way toward them.

With eyes never leaving Grissom, he settled himself on the table in front of him.

"How you doing?" came the inevitable question which received only a shrug.

"I've been better," he admitted leaning his head back against the couch.

Brows rose steadily at that confession which sent more worry onto Brass's already laden shoulders. The normal 'I'm fine' was what he expected, not the truth. His attention shifted to Sara.

She smirked at the look. "He has a slight concussion and multiple bruises," she began looking over at Grissom. "Pretty sure he's going to be sore tomorrow. But mainly he's exhausted, both physically and mentally. I think he also has the beginnings of a migraine."

"And why isn't he home?" Brass asked of Sara, a no-nonsense tone making its way into his words.

"I want to see Nick," Grissom answered as he sat forward resting his head in his hands, deciding he'd better say something before they packed him off.

"We're waiting for the doctor to tell us it's okay to go in but we've been waiting awhile," Sara added.

"Ah, something to do," Brass said as he rose, a determined look in his eye.

"Are you sure you don't want to go home?" Sara asked of Grissom as she leaned in close, placing a hand on his back and moving it in slow circles.

He barely shook his head then pressed fingers to his temples and sighed. He was so tired. When looking for Nick it had been all consuming. Nothing else mattered except finding him and adrenaline had taken care of everything. Now, when it was all over, he was slowly folding in on himself. He couldn't do that. Not yet anyway.

"I want to see Nick," he repeated. That's all had to do – see Nick and then he would know this was all over.

"Okay," Sara answered looking up to see Brass coming their way. "That didn't take long."

"It's my Jersey charm," he answered with a slight grin. "He's down the hall behind me. Let's go."

With a deep breath, Grissom began to rise and instantly found Brass on one side and Sara on the other when he began to sway. Normally he would've flushed at his inability to do such a trivial thing as stand but he was just so worn out. Let other people help him for once.

Between the three of them they managed to maneuver themselves toward their destination, ignoring the odd looks the nurses gave out as they passed, both Sara and Brass scanning the nameplates and room numbers until the name STOKES, printed on masking tape, was spotted on the door to their left.

Leaning Grissom against the wall, Brass ducked his head into the room to verify the occupant then came right back out.

"Everybody's there," he said giving Grissom the eye. "You okay?" he asked as the man lifted his head and nodded. "Okay, then. It's a little crowded in there so we'll be right out here. Call us if you need anything." Letting go of Grissom's arm, Brass held the door for him.

"Thanks, Jim," he said, his tone grateful.

"It's what friends are for," he answered with a smile wondering if Grissom knew he was holding Sara's hand.

She let him go first and glanced toward Brass who acted as if he'd not seen a thing and they both watched Grissom slip inside.

A single light over the sink dropped shadows on everything and everyone but he could still make out Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown seated at the small table near the window. Acknowledging them with a tilt of his head, Grissom made his way to the end of the bed noticing two other people sitting there – Jillian and Bill Stokes, Nick's parents – each holding one of his hands. Before Grissom could open his mouth, Jillian rose and came toward him. He took a step back, not sure what was coming, then found himself enveloped in a hug, his own arms hesitantly coming up around her.

"Thank you for saving my son," she sobbed as Bill approached holding out his hand. Grissom took it as Jillian stepped back.

"You'll never know how much we owe you, sir," Bill said, his cracking voice and glistening eyes telling of his gratefulness.

"He's alive. The debt is paid," Grissom quietly stated as he let go of Bill's hand.

"The debt will never be paid," Bill gave back.

Grissom didn't know what to say in response so simply nodded, shifting his gaze toward Nick, wincing at the ant bites on every visible piece of skin.

"How is he?" he finally asked.

Bill looked back to his son and smiled. "He's going to be fine. A few ants and a crazy man aren't going to put my son on his back for long."

Grissom could hear the pride in the man's voice and felt it himself, finding it hard not to revisit the panicked state Nick had been in when they'd opened the box lid, holding him down so he wouldn't move and marveling at the trust he'd shown in him when he stilled at his request.

It was over and Nick was alive and not part of an exhaustion addled vision that still troubled him. True, he was covered in bites, would suffer horrible nightmares and flashbacks but he was out of that box – out and breathing fresh air. And that's all Grissom really needed to know. Later, when they were both stronger, he would remind Nick that disappointment was not a word he associated with the young man and knew he never would.

"Good," Grissom said. "I just wanted to see for myself."

"We'll make sure he knows you were here," Jillian said with a watery smile.

Giving her back a bit of a grin, he turned to leave as quietly as he came in when a whispered voice brought him to an abrupt stop.

"Gris."

Glancing back, he spied two fearful eyes staring at him from the bed along with an unsteady hand stretching toward him. Suddenly the room became very small with only two occupants – himself and Nick – and he couldn't help but move closer grasping the offered hand as he sat on the side of the bed.

"I'm here, Nicky," Grissom informed him trying to convey some sort of strength to the young man who only held on tighter.

"Gris," Nick whispered again, his voice trailing off into a sob as tears streaked his face.

It took but a moment for Grissom to gather Nick into his arms and hold him close, his own eyes closing at the wretched sounds filling the room.

"You're safe. I've got you."

"I tried to think like you," Nick sputtered. "I tried to be strong."

"You were, Nicky. You did everything I would've done."

"I did?" came the innocent question that pulled at Grissom's heart.

"You did."

He felt Nick wrap his other arm about his back and unconsciously began to rock him.

"You've never disappointed me, Nicky," Grissom whispered to him. "Never."

Those words seemed to resonate with the young man and he cried even harder not worried who would see for right then all he knew was Grissom had been there when he'd confessed his worries. And then he'd been there at the end and put all his faith in the man knowing he would get him out of that box. And now here he was – safe at last – all because of Grissom.

He held on tighter.

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Part 1 of 3. All should be posted by June 30th. Reviews are appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

Finally Chapter 2 is ready and none to soon. I only have one more day to complete and upload the final chapter before the GSR Forever Online Challenge is over! I'd better get cracking.

With heartfelt thanks here's to everyone who read and reviewed Chapter 1. Thanks a bunch!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Easing open the front door to Grissom's home, Sara led him inside, holding onto his arm as she locked the door. Tossing the keys onto the small table there, she guided him through the dark toward the bedroom. Setting him down on the edge of the bed, she then headed into the bathroom and flipped on the light.

The ride home from the hospital had been quiet, Grissom slipping once again into sleep as she drove, his hand never leaving hers where he'd entangled it when she'd entered the car. She was loath to remove it, taking great pleasure in the feel of his skin against hers. It would seem he needed her as she needed him even if it was just for now.

She thought back on all they'd been through, all the moments that promised more but never delivered, all the times he was soft and tender and then backed up out of reach. Someone had done a number on him, of that she was sure, and she obviously scared him. But lately he'd been changing and she could pinpoint the exact moment - Adam Trent.1

Recalling the look on Grissom's face - the terror in his eyes as he kept calling to the guard to open the door as Trent threatened to slit her throat – was something that came vividly back to her at odd times. Her fear had been magnified by the fact that she couldn't bear the thought of Grissom seeing her die and have to relive the event, always remaining helpless to do anything about it. He'd slept on her couch that night in case she needed something. That alone rivaled the plant he'd sent her a few years before2 that still sat on her window sill with the card proudly displayed.

Now it was her turn to look after him in case _he_ needed something.

"Where are you migraine meds?" she asked of him not hearing an answer. Poking her head out she repeated herself.

"It's too late," he muttered rubbing at his forehead.

"It's never too late," came her answer.

Those words . . . those words caught at his ears and made him turn seeing her silhouetted in the bathroom doorway. _His_ bathroom doorway. Bloodshot blue eyes met tired brown ones and it was as if time stood still.

Grissom would never know if it was because of his burgeoning migraine or a sudden epiphany that seemed to make her glow as if the sun itself was shining upon her. All he would remember was the longing he'd been trying to hide all these years hid no longer and he didn't much care if the ground he was treading on was dangerous or not. All he cared about was what stood before him.

"My love, my life," he whispered closing his eyes, thinking on how she made him quiver each time she brushed past; how his eyes would find and stick with her as she worked a scene and her smile lit up his world. He was so tired of burying his feelings, of pushing her aside as if that would solve anything.

Should he take the chance and possibly get everything he ever wanted?

Did he dare or was his exhaustion making him think he could?

"Grissom? Meds?" came her voice again.

Startled out of his thoughts he cleared his throat. "Top drawer on the left," he answered.

Sounds of rummaging were soon followed by her standing beside him, pills and water in hand. Swiftly downing them, he gave her the empty glass and reached for his temples. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been this worn out, when his thoughts roamed where he tried not to go and had little success in drowning them out. Everyone was safe. The case was closed. Now all he had to do was sleep.

"Take me, Hypnos3," he mumbled, "and let me fade away into dreamless sleep."

"Did you say something?" she asked sitting next to him on the bed. He gave her a thin smile then shook his head not having the energy to explain himself.

Once again Sara dropped a hand onto his back, copying the slow circles she'd begun at the hospital, this time feeling his muscles begin to relax. Soon his hand found her leg as if that was all that was keeping him upright and she thought on how much she wanted to tell him of her love then wrap arms about him and never let go. But now was not the time. He was in a vulnerable state, haunted almost by recent events and she had no right to take advantage no matter how much she wanted to. And if she was smart, she knew she should fly from this room before she made the mistake of clouding up this quiet scene with confessions that could ruin everything. She wasn't very smart, at least at that very moment.

"Do you want to take a shower or change out of your clothes?" she found herself asking only to receive a shake of the head. "Then lie down," she ordered getting up to lightly push him backwards then help him to raise his legs, pulling off his shoes in the process. Dragging up the quilt from the end of the bed she laid it over him. "You need to sleep. You're exhausted."

"Sara . . ." came his breathy voice.

"Ssh, now," she gave back with a smile. Looking closely she could see his eyes begin to glisten and quickly raised a hand to his cheek as she sat back down.

"Gris . . ."

"I - I don't want to be alone," he admitted not able to stop the words from floating out into the air.

Her breath caught and her heart began to thud, then she swallowed. "You're tired," she quickly gave him and tried to pull her hand away as his came up and stopped her.

"I need you, Sara," he confessed keeping his eyes attached to hers, hoping to impress upon her the honesty behind these words. "I think I always have."

At that moment the love she had for this man overwhelmed her and she had to force herself to breathe. God, he was tired, in pain and defenseless. Would he regret all of this come morning? Would she?

"Sara?"

A warm smile touched her lips at the emotions playing across his face as he waited for anything from her. It was then she decided to take a chance, reached up and slowly moved fingers through his hair. The response was instantaneous as his eyes closed and she witnessed all the worry and anxiety that had crept upon him during this whole ordeal dissipate within the space of a second replaced with a single tear sliding down his face.

"I'm here," she whispered gently wiping it away. "I've always been here."

Grissom let go of a sigh at her declaration. She _had_ always been there – coming when he called, staying around, and always waiting for him to make up his mind. And now she was here, here where he'd always wanted her to be and it was up to him to make it known he wanted her to stay forever. Wrapping fingers about hers, he pulled her hand to his chest wanting so to confess his soul to her with _his_ words not someone else's. But trying to sift through everything that jumbled up his brain left him wanting. Right when he needed to speak from the heart, he could barely keep himself awake.

But then came a vague impression of movement and a shifting of weight on the bed and he clutched her hand even harder not wanting her to leave. As his eyes fluttered open he found her lying next to him, her face close to his, her other hand once again sifting through his hair.

"Sleep," she whispered

"Sara, I need . . ."

"You need to sleep," she finished for him taking hold of his other hand as he reached for her.

"Sara . . ." he tried again, his eyes slowly closing.

"All will look brighter the next time you wake."

"It already is," he whispered on a soft breath giving in to sleep only because he had no other choice.

Carefully, she touched his cheek with the back of her hand and shut her own eyes praying to whoever would listen that she wouldn't see any regret on his face when the sun rose or hear how sorry he was for taking advantage of her good nature.

Leaning in, she kissed his forehead, her lips but a whisper on his skin. "Let me love you like I've always wanted. I promise to keep your heart safe as I know you'll keep mine."

He stirred a bit and she noted a tug at the corner of his mouth but he didn't wake. Hopefully, he hadn't heard her. Even though it was her fervent hope that once she broke through his nearly impenetrable barriers he would let her love him, she could never say something like that to his face without stammering and turning every shade of red. Not yet anyway.

But he'd said he needed her.

Was this her chance? Would she have Nick to thank for making him take the leap?

A smile came to her just before she, too, drifted into sleep.

csicsicsicsi

_ It's dark and I'm knee deep in dirt._

_ Damn, not again!_

_ Clawing at the dirt, anger rips at me and I attack it with a vengeance. I know what I'm looking for this time and find it quickly. The broken piece practically leaps into my hands and the lid is off._

_ But it's empty! Empty!_

_Oh, my God! Sara!_

_ The darkness keeps me from seeing any farther than a few feet. _

_Sara!_

It's never too late.

_I spin. _

_Sara? Sara, where are you?_

_Silence meets me. I know those words. I whirl about in the thick air._

_ Sara? _

It's okay. I've got you.

_ More words, more memories as the air changes, clears, lightens as vibrations work their way to me, vibrations that become what I've always wanted to hear._

I'm here. I've always been here.

It will all look brighter the next time you wake.

Let me love you like I've always wanted.

I'll keep your heart safe

heart safe . . .

safe . . .

". . . safe," tripped out of Grissom's mouth as he opened eyes to a darkened space.

He blinked furiously, not able to see much past his nose, smelling of fresh turned dirt and nervous sweat. His heart pounded. He'd been digging in the dirt, trying to get to Nick . . . no . . . Sara and then he heard her all around him but couldn't see her.

The urge to move overwhelmed him and he came up fast when the need to stop this nonsense attacked him as an intense burning ache flared within every possible sinew in his body stealing his breath away. Gasping, he could do nothing else but ease himself back, driving away the mere idea of trying that again until he could get the grimace off his face and unclench his teeth long enough to swallow properly.

_ What was that?_

As the bright colors of pain slowly began to subside, it came to him, an indistinct recollection of a doctor telling him he would more than likely hurt tomorrow, or was it today, filled his head.

Today.

Today was Sunday or . . . yeah, Sunday, and yesterday . . . Yesterday was done. And it had been the worst yesterday ever until . . . until the pieces fit and Nick was safe.

That had been a good end for yesterday.

Gradually, his jaw relaxed and his heart stopped racing and the darkened space about him took on the familiar trappings of his bedroom. Rubbing his forehead, he sighed.

And then came another sigh.

He tensed then sucked in a breath as he felt a hand move against his belly followed by hot breath fanning across his neck causing him to shiver. Frowning, he warily glanced over his shoulder then quickly back.

Sara.

_ What the . . ?_

The hand that had rubbed his forehead moved across his face as he looked down. He was dressed and so was she and her arm was draped over his side, her hand clutched within his own and it felt . . . Well, it felt natural as if it had always been. Desperately he strove to clear the cotton from his head and dredge up how this had happened. There had to be a reason they were both in bed, in _his_ bed. Calming himself, he tried to think which seemed awfully hard at present.

They'd been at the scene. He'd watched the ambulance pull away. Then there was the hospital, he'd seen Nick and held him. And then he was home and Sara . . . Sara was everywhere and all he wanted was to touch her, hold her, and keep her close just as she was now.

And then he heard his own voice echoing within a memory and brows rose.

_ "I need you."_

Eyes grew wide at the words.

Had he actually done it?

He shook his head at the idea of saying . . . and he heard it again. A hand closed over his mouth as the truth struck him like a flat rock upside the head. He'd finally done it. Finally. And what had been the outcome? He glanced over his shoulder again. She'd stayed. Giddiness overcame him at the thought that he'd actually taken the step he should've taken long ago . . . and she'd stayed not run away into the night as he'd always feared.

By God she'd stayed.

Now feeling her against his back, he could've died right there and been pleased with himself for all eternity. He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb and contemplated all he would say upon her waking when she moved and her hand slid from his as she rolled away. Peeking over his shoulder he followed her movements as she settled onto her back, a fleeting frown soon followed by a passing resemblance to a smile appearing on her face. And then he was smiling, too, a big dumb smile that he couldn't seem to stop and wondered if he should wake her. Shoving away that thought he refused to break the spell for what would greet him when she woke?

If she hadn't meant to stay would she be embarrassed?

What if waking to find him staring at her would be too much?

What if . . .

_ "Let me love you."_

Those words bounded into his brain next and brows flew up even further. He glanced back again. She was still asleep but it was _her_ voice in his head. He scowled and pursed his lips as he fought to find and hold onto whatever was skulking in the shadows that made those words familiar. He couldn't stand this lack of focus that seemed to consume him, keeping him from knowing if what he was remembering was true or not. Surely he wouldn't have made up such a thing.

Would he?

He'd wanted it for so long; maybe this was his fatigued mind's idea of a joke or simply wishful thinking. Chiding himself for assuming anything he now wondered if he'd misinterpreted everything. But how could he misinterpret the fact that she was here, lying in his bed right next to him? A low growl burbled in his throat as hands covered his face. Too much thinking on too little sleep was never good. He sighed then brightened a bit. She _was_ right next to him, lying there, asleep. She'd never know if he turned over and just looked at her and he so wanted to just look at her.

Resolve filled him to tempt the pain gods once again and he grit his teeth, moving as quickly as he could before lancing cries of stretched muscles dropped him onto his pillow effectively muffling his wheezing pants. She moved and his eyes quickly darted to her sleeping form.

_ Please don't wake up._

She resettled and he relaxed taking his time now to gaze at her.

She looked different asleep – all the worries of the day gone, her skin smoothed out to no longer pucker with anxiety and doubt that a typical day at work could bring. She looked as he remembered her all those years before when he'd first laid eyes on her as she rattled off question after question, drawing him to her like a moth to flame. It was then he'd fallen in love with her and started his long battle denying it.

But no longer. He'd told her he needed her and she'd stayed.

Plucking up the courage from somewhere, he reached out, his hand moving toward the wayward wisp of hair that lay across her face. Easing it back into place, he reluctantly pulled back to stop himself from drawing her to him and holding on tight. Instead he watched as her mouth parted slightly and let out a chuff of air before closing causing him to smile once again. He didn't know why he responded so and didn't much care. All he knew was for the first time in a long time he felt . . . happy.

Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he leaned in close. "You have my heart," he whispered, the words lazily drifting over her as she slept. "You always have and always will."

* * *

_1__ Adam Trent – a character from the Season 5 episode "Committed"_

_2__ Grissom sent Sara a plant in the Season 2 episode "Burden of Proof". The card simply said "Grissom"_

_3__ Hypnos is the Greek God of sleep_

_

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_Chapter 3 will be up tomorrow. Thanks again to all who read this and like it!_  
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	3. Chapter 3

_Ah ha! I did it. Finished it just in time. I now know how paid writers feel when their deadline quickly approaches. I hope that I've completed this story to everyone's satisfaction. I would dearly love to have another day but beggars can't be choosers. Thank you once again to all who liked this story enough to read it and an extra set of thanks to those who left reviews. It does my heart good._

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**Chapter 3**

The late morning sun peeked around the blinds giving the room a soft glow. It was the first thing Sara saw when she opened her eyes just before she yawned then stretched then sat straight up in bed.

This wasn't her bedroom. This was Grissom's bedroom.

Her head nearly fell off her neck as she looked to the other side of the bed finding it empty. A hand to the sheets told her he'd been gone awhile. She'd not heard a phone ringing or the shower running. In fact, she didn't remember anything after her confession of love to him before falling asleep. So the only alternative that flitted into her head was that he'd bolted the moment he realized who was in his bed.

"Shit," she softly cursed, running a hand down her face, pondering how she could quietly extricate herself from his house.

It was then she realized this was a lose-lose situation. If he was still in the house he wouldn't be able to look at her and would apologize right off the bat. If he was gone there would be a note. 'Thanks for last night' or 'Sorry about last night' or worse yet 'Please don't tell anyone about last night'.

She dropped her head into her hands and moaned.

_ What a fool!_

She'd fallen for the old vulnerable trick again. No not a trick. He'd said things he'd never said before and the looks he'd given her were real. She was sure of it. But how could she expect someone as tightly wound as Grissom to reveal himself so easily without expecting some repercussions in the morning when the light of day revealed what his words had wrought?

"Stupid," she called to the ceiling. How could they ever work together again?

Scrambling off the bed, she pulled on her shoes, ran a hand through mussed hair and headed for the bedroom door, leaning an ear against the wood to hear . . . nothing. Rubbing suddenly sweaty hands on her pants and taking a steadying breath, she grabbed the doorknob, twisted and pulled only to jump back with a little shriek at the sight of Grissom standing in front of her, his own hand reaching for the door.

"Geez, Sara, give me a coronary why don't you," he blurted, his free hand flying to his chest.

"Sorry," she quickly answered her eyes taking in what she hadn't seen before. He was carrying a tray filled with food. He followed her eye line.

"I made breakfast," he said with a shy grin stating the obvious. "Well, actually brunch. Omelets with all the fixin's." When she didn't answer, his grin began to fade. He cleared his throat. "Um, I thought we could have breakfast in . . ."

He trailed off at the look she was giving him – raised brows and pursed lips. But then what did he expect? He'd been going to say breakfast in bed.

In bed?

That would imply . . .

_God, what an idiot!_

This wasn't exactly how he'd planned it.

Awakening a few hours before, he'd found himself nuzzled up against her neck, his arm stretched over her side – an almost perfect duplicate in reverse of his original awakening, and breathed in deeply. Her scent alone forced him to debate with himself for nearly ten minutes about staying right where he was but he still couldn't shake the what if's from his mind, so slowly removed himself from her side and backed out of bed.

Leaning over to outwait the flaring bits of pain that worked their way through him, the idea of breakfast popped into his head. A puzzled look replaced the grimace at the wonderings of where that thought came from then quickly accepted it as a vision of a tray loaded with food and a flower from his garden took shape. Smiling then, he quietly left the bedroom to work on his masterpiece.

But obviously he hadn't thought it all the way through as he now recognized his faux pas and felt himself flush, nerves now coming into play as each soundless second passed. He looked at everything but her as a tremor moved through his arms sending ripples through the orange juice. She was taking too long. He opened his mouth to apologize and beat a hasty retreat.

"I love omelets," she finally said, his eyes rushing to hers. She was smiling then so was he.

"Good," was all he could think to say.

"Um, but since I'm already up," she began, "why don't we eat at the table?"

He quickly nodded grateful she hadn't brought up the bed thing.

"I'll set things up."

And then he was gone, leaving her to follow after him, watching his stiff movements as he laid out the plates, making sure everything was ready before holding out a chair for her.

"You're sore aren't you?" she asked taking the offered seat.

"Oh, yeah," came the answer as he sat opposite her. "Almost fell over in the kitchen reaching for a pan. Thank goodness for Advil."

She giggled a bit then picked up her fork surveying the contents of her plate. Food hadn't been foremost on anyone's minds as they'd searched for Nick and neither could remember the last time anything had passed their lips. They both dived in.

"This is good," she said between bites. "I didn't know you could cook."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," came out before he could stop himself. He tried not to flinch but was doubtful he'd been successful. "I wanted to thank you," he said in a soft voice.

Looking at him she frowned. "For what?"

"For last night. For getting me home and . . . staying with me," he reminded her as he looked up hoping to get a feel for where she stood. She looked at him then away and he frowned.

"I was glad you let me," she replied.

"I just . . . You were . . ." He stopped himself. Stammering wasn't very endearing. "Thank you," he repeated.

_ Damn, this is awkward._

She nodded and sipped at her orange juice. "I thought I'd go see Nick today."

"Yeah, me, too. Then I should probably take a nap or two."

Sara chuckled. "Me, too."

Grissom looked up at her thinking 'take a nap with me' but quickly put that out of his mind and returned to his omelet. It was always so hard to talk to her especially when she looked at him with those big brown eyes that seemed to devour him whole. He needed to man up and say what he felt, what he'd been rehearsing as he made breakfast. But then he knew it was far easier to get it right when the audience wasn't actually in the theater.

She watched him fiddle with his food then put his fork down and steeple his fingers. When he took a deep breath she cringed. This was it. This was the time when he would say what she didn't want to hear; say all the things that turned her stomach; things that made her heart sink every time she saw the indecision on his face. She should've left the moment he fell asleep. She clutched her fork tighter as he began to speak, trying to tamp down the urge to flee. She wasn't having very much luck.

"Sara."

Her name came out deep and slow and then nothing. Eyes squeezed shut as the words he most wanted to say jumbled into a wad in his throat. Hastily gulping his juice as if the liquid would sort them out, he flashed her a bit of a smile and rubbed his hands together to keep them from shaking.

"I, ah, I don't think I will . . ."

"I should go," she hastily interjected, stunning him even more speechless than he already was as she leapt to her feet and headed for the front door. "I have to go home, take a shower, go see Nick. Thank you for breakfast."

With his mouth hanging open, Grissom's mind whirled at this sudden turn of events. How had things gone so bad so quickly? Baffled, he tried to speak, to calm the voice screaming in his head, but again nothing came out. It wasn't until he heard the door open that something clicked.

"STOP!" he exclaimed a bit more loudly than he'd planned.

He saw her jump but it seemed his shouting did the trick for even though her hand remained on the doorknob, she didn't open it any further. Pushing back his chair, he slowly stood, his body trembling at the prospect that it could all just end right then, and leaned against the table for support waiting to see what she was going to do.

When his chair moved her heart began a lopsided beat in her ears. Why, oh, why hadn't she gone home last night? If she wasn't here then she wouldn't have to listen to him tell her last night didn't mean anything more than bringing comfort to a friend, offering a hand when needed. She'd talked herself into the idea that she'd be able to take that and wasn't surprised to find she couldn't. Sleeping next to Grissom had meant more to her than she thought possible. Now it would just be a memory she could pull out from time to time as a monumental what might have been.

Grissom watched as she just stood there, waiting for her to ignore him and fly through the door. He knew this was _the_ moment, _the_ time he needed to tell her how he felt for if he let this pass he would never make it here again because there would be nothing left of him. He had to say something. He had to say something now.

"Just . . . stop," he managed, reaching inside for whatever gumption he knew he still possessed. "Please, Sara, sit down. I – I have something to say and . . . I don't want to say it to your back."

She stared at the door then slowly closed it wondering why she was such a glutton for punishment. But it was better to get it over with thinking she'd still have enough time in the day to tender her resignation and begin to pack up her stuff for there was no way in hell she was going to stick around after this. She still had some dignity left.

He bit at his lip as she pulled her hand from the doorknob then slowly turned, her eyes fixing on his, that look settling on her face. That look. The one he'd seen on her before that shouted 'go ahead, break my heart'. It froze him to the spot.

_Damn, chicken shit!_

His useless mouth opened again and failed to emit anything causing a veil of dread to fall over his face. Frustration rose and he grabbed at the back of his chair.

"Ok, I've stopped," Sara said in an emotionless voice, clenching her jaw to keep her chin from quivering. "What do you have to say?"

And, for some reason, that made him mad. It was probably the tone, or lack thereof, that just cut through him. It wasn't until much later that it occurred to him she was probably protecting herself from whatever he was going to say if he would ever say anything at all. But that was later and now it just raised his dander.

"You always do this," he began, his voice low and hard. "You always run away before I can finish a sentence thinking I'm going to say something that you don't want to hear. Did it ever occur to you that it might be something good?"

A brow lifted at that but the rest of her remained neutral.

"I know that our history has proven that I'm not good at this kind of . . . stuff and that I've put you through hell along the way and I'm sorry. This is very difficult for me and I would appreciate it if you would please sit down and let me get out what I'm trying to say." She didn't even budge and he sighed. "Would you do that for me? Would you let me complete a sentence and then you can run away if you so choose?"

Sara swallowed a quick retort at that bit of sarcasm and ever so slightly raised her chin in defiance.

It was in that hint of movement that Grissom realized he would do anything to keep her here even if he had to drop to his knees and grab onto her legs. All he wanted was standing right in front of him. He wasn't going to just let her go. Not this time.

"Please?" came next.

It was the near begging tone enveloping that one word that finally broke through her stubbornness and she slowly made her way to the couch, noticing him rub at his mouth, then his neck before taking another long, deep breath. She sat and stared at the coffee table, eyes focusing in on book of Shakespeare sonnets laying open to something that probably spoke of unrequited love amongst the ruins. Well, she'd done what he'd asked and now it was his turn.

Hand still clutching at the back of the chair, Grissom stood up straight and slowly blew out that deep breath, his gaze fixed to the floor.

_ Here goes nothing._

"What I was going to say was," he began making sure he spoke every word clearly so there would be no mistaking their meaning, "I don't think I will ever forget the precise moment I found you lying next to me nor ever fail to remember how it made me feel. It was like I'd been awakened from a long sleep, happy to find that I wasn't alone anymore and it was all because you were there." He paused to catch his breath. "I don't want to lose you, Sara."

That last bit was so low she had to strain to hear it but when she did her hopes flared like a giant sun spot. Fears and doubts began to dissolve and it took all her self control not to grin like a fool. She so wanted to leap up and run to him, hold him and never let go but could she give in that easily? This was still Grissom – a very deliberate man.

But he'd gone further than he'd ever dared before. Would he step back once he realized what he was saying? He was still tired; she'd seen it as they sat down to eat and all of this could just be what a worn out Grissom would say and do. No, she had to wait; had to make sure he knew what he was saying before rushing headlong into anything. She still had her own heart to protect.

Grissom waited for something, anything from her but a quick glance told him nothing. She hadn't even moved except to fold hands together in her lap. He cursed at himself. It was so easy to say things to her while she slept, to reach out and touch her when she wasn't aware, but this . . . this was real, so very real with so many unknowns to trip him up. He'd thought his words were clear, that they told her what he felt. It _was_ what he felt, damnit! Didn't that matter?

With a shake of his head, he let go of the chair and crossed arms over his chest, his hand rubbing at his chin. He'd never thought himself a coward, merely cautious, and this was what he'd dreamed of so many times before - to speak the words, to take a chance, 'live on the edge' as Greg would say, but it carried with it the ability to break his heart. And that had always been the reason he'd never ventured this far.

Perhaps he _was_ a coward, always willing to hide in the shadows and never be happy. Dropping arms to his sides, he rolled his shoulders trying to fend off such thoughts. He was here now, by his own choosing, and he'd asked her to look at him while he'd turned away. He should give her the same courtesy.

Bracing himself for what might come, Grissom turned back to look at her finding those brown eyes staring right through him twisting his tongue and his head and his heart into a pretzel. He cleared his throat.

"I – I can't stand the thought of what will come if you walk out that door and I want to believe that you feel the same. I – I want . . ." Swallowing suddenly became difficult as bile crept upward, his stomach rebelling at the sheer audacity of what he was about to proclaim.

_Looking at a mutilated body is easier than this!_

"I want to . . . I need you to . . ."

"Grissom, you don't . . ."

"Damnit! I want to let you love me!" he blurted out.

_Finally!_

Pleased with himself for half a second realization struck when those last words echoed back to him. He hadn't planned it that way! He'd planned flowery language and verse that spoke of things to come. All the right words and none of them his own. Instead, when push came to shove, all he had was a blanket statement shouted across the room of words he'd thought he'd heard as he'd lingered between awake and not. It was too abrupt, too needy. He blanched then sweat broke out on his forehead at the shocked look on her face.

_Crap! Maybe I really did dream it all!_

Immediately he said the only words that came to him.

"I'm sorry." A hand moved along his neck. "No, that's not . . . I didn't mean to say . . . Well, I did, it's just . . ." Rubbing his forehead came next followed by a loud sigh as he leaned against the chair. "I thought I heard you say something last night and I wanted you to know that I . . ."

That damnable silence was back and he closed his eyes trying to keep the blush from his face knowing he wasn't having any luck.

_God, what a mess. _

Embarrassed, he looked at the floor, feeling as if all the air in the room had been sucked away. "It doesn't matter," he quickly stated. "I guess you didn't say anything and I . . . Well, just ignore me. Sleep deprived," he added with a feeble attempt at a grin trying to cover up how his heart was slowly squeezing the life from him.

"I thought you were asleep," came her voice into the quiet and he quickly looked up to catch her blushing, too.

"What?"

She looked at him. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

Brows flew up his forehead. "Then you did say it?" She barely nodded. A tentative smile came to him. "I - I wasn't sure. But then I woke up next to you and you were holding me and I . . . But I didn't know if . . . I didn't want to wake you and find out . . ."

He trailed off knowing he sounded like a babbling idiot and desperately wanted her get him out of this chaos he'd created. But she remained quiet, shock still prevalent upon her face and again his hopes were falling about him. God, this was awful. He should never have said anything then they could continue being . . . What? Just friends? Colleagues? Always at arm's length?

_Aw, hell. Go out with bang._

Slowly, he sat in front of her on the edge of the coffee table wishing he had the nerve to take her hand. Instead he tried to get her to look at him and failed. He carried on anyway.

"I want you to love me, Sara. I've wanted it for a long time," he confessed as the words he'd fought so hard to deliver now came unhindered when it didn't matter. "I finally decided that I was miserable without you and knew it was my fault. And then I thought I heard you last night and it all became clear and I was no longer afraid." When she didn't move or look at him he dropped his head, hating himself for waiting too long. "You once told me that by the time I figured it out I'd be too late. I should've listened."

The hush that pervaded every ounce of available space about him was crushing and he wondered why silence became so loud at moments like these. It was over. What happened was always what he'd feared and now he'd have to rebuild those barriers that encased his heart and _never_ take them down again. But then he heard her move and quickly lifted his head.

Her face was tear-streaked and guilt gripped him. Once again he'd made her cry and that was never his intent. He just wanted to love her from morning until night then start all over the next day. That's all he'd ever wanted.

Then he saw her hand rise toward him and stiffened. He could feel her emotions - they emanated from her like a blast of air – and he wasn't sure what was to come but decided to simply accept it. So when her warm touch fell upon his cheek he could do nothing but close his eyes and marvel at how such a simple gesture could take his breath away.

"You're not too late," she whispered. "You would never be too late."

Opening his eyes again he fell into the depths of hers. "Really?"

The longing look radiating from those blue eyes filled her with warmth and she let loose the biggest smile she could. "Baby, you're all I've ever wanted and all I'll ever need. Never forget that."

Without thought he pulled her hand from his face and kissed her palm, his actions catching up with his mind as he marveled at how he now had the right to do that. His smile matched hers and he wondered at the ease that spread through him, no longer feeling worn down by everything that had happened.

Reaching up he gently wiped at her tears. "My heart and soul have always known that I love you, Sara," he softly said. "Now my head is privy to that, too."

"Well, it's about time," she quipped as he chuckled trying to wrap his head around everything before him, about the quiet joy that filled him.

"My love knows no bounds where you're concerned, nor will it ever change. You touch me like no other. I don't ever want you to leave."

"Oh," she said as more tears fell. "I've waited so long for that."

"I'm sorry I took so long," he answered kissing her palm again.

"You are forgiven." She pulled up his hand and kissed the back of it, never taking her eyes from his. "I love you with all my heart."

He slowly leaned in then and met her lips with his, tender and cautious. Parting, they stared into the other's eyes until he slid onto the couch beside her. She rested her head upon his chest listening to the rapid beat of his heart sinking into the feel of his arms holding her close.

"Just do me one thing," she began, her own arms snaking about him.

"Anything," he answered and meant it. If she asked for the world, somehow he would get it for her.

"Just love me like no one else ever has."

He smiled and gently kissed the top of her head.

"With everything I have."

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_Well, folks, that's it. I hope you enjoyed this piece. Thanks again for all your nice comments! Happy 4th to those of you in the USA._


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